


Refuge: Bits and Pieces

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Series: Refuge [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Growing Up Together, M/M, One-Shots, alternative universe, established AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:04:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8853232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: This will be a collection of one-shots that tie into the established universe of "Refuge," my completed multi-chapter fic about Jim and Spock growing up together during Romulus' occupation of Vulcan. Perspectives, ratings, and place in the timeline will change by chapter. Spoilers and a great deal of confusion ahead if you haven't read "Refuge."





	1. I'm a Doctor, Not a Relationship Therapist

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! There won't be any set update schedule for these little tie-in stories, nor will they be as refined as what I usually try to post. I'm just writing them because I can't quite leave the "Refuge" universe behind yet, and there's still so much to explore! I hope you enjoy these bits and pieces!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set right before the boys go on vacation to Iowa, after they've already met back up in Starfleet. (Refresher: Jim and Spock grew up together on the Kirk farm, Jim drunk-kissed Spock as a teenager, they didn't talk for two years, they met back up at Starfleet Academy and started hanging out, and Bones looked on with growing annoyance) It's told from Bones' perspective because, really, I had to at some point. Boy, does he put up with a lot.

Leonard McCoy didn’t have a lot of friends-- in part due to the divorce. Jocelyn had been the amiable one, the one who knew all the other couples, the one who was outgoing and ready to make friends at the drop of the hat. When they’d split, everyone Leonard knew took her side, and he didn’t even blame them.

Then, Starfleet. San Francisco. A whole new start, but Leonard was so out of practice socializing, and frankly in no mood to do so, it wasn’t exactly like he was anxious to meet new people.

Far as he could tell, his fellow medical cadets were going to be as busy and work-focused as he was, and he wasn’t going to be going out enough to meet anyone else.

Then Jim Kirk walked into their shared room, looking like the fresh-faced kind of kid they’d put on recruitment posters. He was immediately affable, almost over-eager, and Leonard liked him.

The other cadets he worked with in the science labs were all right. He struck up a sort of working friendship with Christine Chapel, but Jim was the one person he really spent time with off-hours. And when that damned Vulcan in his labs started driving him up the wall, Jim was a pretty good sounding-board, if a little too willing to make excuses for the hobgoblin.

Then, Leonard found out exactly who the ‘damned Vulcan’ was, and things got, well, _complicated_.

Spock. Jim had never said his name before, just referring to him as “my Vulcan,” maybe in an attempt to distance himself, Leonard never really knew. But he knew the second the two started talking that there was something more to the stories he’d heard. Far as he had been told, Jim and Spock had shared a pretty pleasant few years as friends, then parted on bad terms.

The way Spock looked at Jim, though-- that didn’t look like ‘bad terms’ to Leonard. The months he’d been working in the lab with that menace, Leonard had never once seen his eyes soften or seen a half-smile on his face. Not until Jim.

When Jim did finally tell Leonard what had happened when they were teenagers-- a drunken kiss, a pretty damaging rejection-- Leonard should’ve been more surprised that the word ‘love’ came out of his friend’s mouth. He should’ve been more surprised to hear that Jim had fallen for someone as closed-off and arrogant as Spock, but from everything Jim had told him, the person Jim had fallen in love with was not the same Vulcan who had been giving Leonard hell all these months. There was a side to Spock that Leonard hadn’t seen yet, and maybe no one had seen it but Jim. And maybe it didn’t even exist.

Call him crazy, he got protective. The only other person he’d ever wanted to wrap in bubble wrap to keep them safe had been his daughter, but she was a toddler. Jim was a man, a young man, granted, but he could take care of himself. Maybe Leonard misplaced some of his paternal feelings on Jim, but he couldn’t help it. The situation could only end bad as far as he could tell. Spock was Vulcan, and from what Leonard had seen he was only capable of one emotion: pride. Love? Friendship? That was just ridiculous.

At least, that’s what he thought until he started spending time with the two of them together. If he’d thought Jim’s obvious and obviously overwhelming affection was one-sided, he clearly hadn’t been watching Spock close enough. Every opportunity he got, the Vulcan kept his eyes steady on Jim. Leonard didn’t worry he’d be caught on the multiple occasions he spent watching Spock like a hawk, ‘cause Spock and Jim traded longing stares like it was some kind of contest to see who could look more like a kicked puppy.

He started to come around to the idea that maybe it was just a matter of time. They’d talk out everything that had happened, and they’d probably fit back together like they had when they were kids. Leonard’s worry started to ease for a while, but only for a while. It took months for him to understand that maybe they were both too damn stubborn to bring it up. It was mind-numbing.

Leonard could wait a whole semester for the virus he was studying to react to a catalyst, but he didn’t have the patience for this. Jim came home looking sadder and sadder every time he went out with Spock, and though Leonard had promised not to push, he hated seeing Jim-- the first person who had given a damn about him in years-- losing hope. A lifetime of pained silence, the kid had said. He’d rather suffer a lifetime of pained silence than ever tell Spock how he felt again. That was one thing if there was no alternative, but Leonard saw the alternative clear as day, and somehow the other two would have to see it eventually.

The trip to Iowa was supposed to change everything. Leonard was damn sure Jim had invited Spock so he could finally confess, but he didn’t say as much aloud. They’d spent a few hours in a train, and Leonard had watched the scenery swish by while the two had discussed some of their cherished childhood memories. Again. Leonard caught Jim’s eyes a few times as if to urge him on-- as if to say ‘you know what you really want to be talking about,’ but each time Jim gave him a hard look and a shake of his head. ‘Not the time,’ he seemed to be saying. Or maybe ‘Never.’

The car ride had been a special kind of hell, and not just thanks to Jim’s terrible driving. Leonard had opted for the back seat, where he had a perfect view of the side of Spock’s face. For a good three hours, Spock’s eyes didn’t leave Jim’s hands. Those eyes were half-lidded, his lips curled in a small smile, listening to Jim rattle on (assumedly for Leonard’s benefit) about the landmarks they were passing as though nothing else existed in the world.

If Leonard thought that  focused, contented attention was restricted to the car ride, the rest of the vacation put it in perspective. Leonard kept thinking that Spock couldn’t be more relaxed, that he couldn’t look happier, that he couldn’t be more obvious about how he felt for Jim, and then each passing moment at the farm proved Leonard wrong. How didn’t Jim know the Vulcan was head-over-heels for him? Was he blind? Leonard made a few mental notes to check both Jim’s eyesight _and_ his head when they got back to proper facilities to do so.

 

\--

 

That first night in Iowa, he’d sat in the Kirks’ living room, a scotch in his hand that he swirled gently as he spoke. Spock and Jim had gone upstairs to bed quite a few minutes before, and Leonard had already exhausted the small talk he’d prepared for George and Winona. There was a topic he’d wanted to address, and as they sat serenely on the couch and Leonard watched them from his perch on the armchair, he finally brought it up.

“Not to be a gossip,” he said casually after the conversation finally lulled, “but what is that about?”

He gestured up the stairs with his glass, keeping his voice low in case the walls were as thin as they looked. He had no doubt that the Kirks knew exactly what he meant by ‘that.’

Winona was leaning against her husband’s chest, his arm slung around her shoulders, but at Leonard’s question she sat up a little straighter and shot a glance at George.

George thinned his lips and rubbed his forehead, a familiar gesture. Leonard saw a lot of Jim in both of these people. Maybe that was why he’d felt so immediately comfortable with them, comfortable enough to bring up what was probably a touchy subject.

“Well,” George said, then looked to his wife for help.

“Well,” Winona echoed, worrying the fabric of her flannel shirt between her fingers. “I don’t really know anymore,” she admitted. She turned a sad smile toward Leonard, a shrug in her shoulders. “They were so close until one day they just… weren’t. And now…”

“Now it looks like nothing’s changed,” George continued for her. “I don’t get it. Jim never did tell us what happened back then. We just thought they would work it out.”

“Or they wouldn’t,” Winona said, glancing at the holos along the mantelpiece almost unconsciously. “But you probably know as much as we do at this point, Leonard. Did--” she paused, looking back at him, her eyes suddenly narrowing. “Did he say anything to you about it?”

Leonard stiffened a little. He probably should’ve expected that question, but he didn’t want to betray Jim’s confidence. If Jim hadn’t told his parents (and of course he hadn’t) Leonard wouldn’t be the one to relay the story of a drunken, teenage mistake that wasn’t even his own to relay.

“‘Fraid not, ma’am,” he said, looking into his scotch. “Just been wondering since they started getting friendly if they had really ended on as bad of terms as Jim seemed to think.”

George let out a low whistle. “Oh, they did.”

That surprised Leonard, and he glanced up at George. The way they’d just told it, the boys’ falling out didn’t warrant a low whistle.

“They didn’t speak to each other for days,” George continued, “and then Spock decided to move. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I don’t know what Jim did--”

“Or what _Spock_ did,” Winona chimed in, laying a hand on her husband’s knee.

George conceded, nodding, “Or what Spock did, sure. But it didn’t look like there was any fixing it.”

“But time heals all wounds,” Winona said, a brightness returning to her voice. “And I guess two years was just what the doctor ordered, right Leonard?”

He smiled at her, something warm in his heart that always accompanied a kind look by a beautiful woman.

“I suppose you’re right, ma’am.” He lifted his glass and took a sip, letting the warmth flood his mouth and tingle along his tongue, that smoky sensation filling his nose. They were quiet for a little while, and Leonard licked his lips.

“That’s a damn fine scotch,” he said, raising his glass. George and Winona seemed to relax, both glad to move on from the subject.

 

\-- 

 

Leonard kept the conversation with Jim’s parents in mind as they passed the rest of their vacation. Unlike the Kirks, he knew what had happened to drive a wedge between Jim and Spock, and unlike them he knew what it was that had brought them back together. Turned out, the answer to both riddles was the same.

Love. Now if only those two idiots would find the answer on their own.

When Jim and Spock got back from their trip to the museum, Leonard searched their faces for any sign of change-- nothing. When they spent time together out in the Kirks’ greenhouse, Leonard waited for the announcement-- nothing.

And finally, with less than a week left in their vacation, he reached the end of his rope.

He’d been looking at the holos in the living room for almost three weeks now, watching a miniaturized version of Spock in these frozen scenes from a legitimate _childhood_ \-- a _happy_ childhood, and though Leonard wasn’t exactly waiting for the opportunity to blow the lid off the pot, he couldn’t just let it pass by when it presented itself.

The three of them were alone in the house that day. Jim read silently as Leonard wandered around the living room, staring at the holos and thinking to himself about what he could do to push them into talking to each other. Not just speaking to each other-- they did plenty of that, conversing in quiet voices at dinner, ducking their heads together over a book closer than was necessary-- No, Leonard wanted them to _talk_ to each other.

When he heard Spock approaching, Leonard had a flash of inspiration. A conversation to lead in, a comfortable afternoon, and now just the right pressure in just the right place. It was like surgery.

“You aren’t much for pictures, are you, Spock?” Leonard remarked when Spock strode in, nodding to the holos to indicate his point. While Jim was pictured in each effortlessly smiling, running, playing, Spock was always a little stiff.

Spock drew level with him. “If you mean to say I do not photograph well, you are correct,” Spock said. “‘Say cheese’ is not as effective on myself as it is on humans.”

Leonard smiled. He had to admit, over the last few months the Vulcan had become a little more tolerable to be around. Thank God, ‘cause he’d support Jim no matter what, but he’d prefer to actually _like_ Spock if Spock was going to be Jim’s boyfriend someday. Not that he’d ever say as much to either of them. He pressed play on the holo he’d been looking at, smiling as he and Spock watched the young boys out in the pasture. Holo-Jim said something about feeding cows, about Spock being afraid.

Spock said something about human emotions. That was a laugh.

“‘Human emotion,’” Leonard said with a chuckle, thinking about all the times he’d watched Spock recently express incredibly human affection for his friend, the same one who was sitting over there on the couch and pretending not to listen. Leonard made sure he was talking loud enough for Jim to hear. “What does that even mean?”

Spock drew himself up. He knew the back-and-forth as well as Leonard did. “It means that humans allow their emotions to govern their every action, as you are aware-- being a prime example.”

Unoffended, Leonard continued, “Oh, but you can’t deny you feel _some_ things. You seemed pretty happy there.” He nodded toward the holo, “but I suppose that was just a fluke.”

Spock nodded, though not necessarily in full agreement, Leonard noted. “Happiness is a human emotion, but serenity is something we Vulcans are quite capable of feeling. In fact, we strive for it. I experienced many moments of serenity here.”

There was his in. Bones felt an almost nervous sinking of his stomach, even as he wore an easy smile. Sometimes, things had to get worse before they could get better. He knew that better than anyone. “Hard to believe you’d give all that up just ‘cause Jim’s an affectionate drunk.”

He could tell it took a second for the implications of that statement to sink in, and he hadn’t exactly been prepared for the room to feel like it’d just dropped ten degrees. In his periphery, he saw Jim slowly turning in their direction, a look of horror on his face. Leonard kept his eyes on Spock, though, watching the straightening of his spine, the clench of his hands. Leonard was still smiling, even when it looked like Spock was getting ready to clock him.

He hated to do this, but what kept the smile on his face was knowing what had to happen next. It was going to be okay. He knew it the second Jim and Spock locked eyes. Because there was no avoiding it anymore. They had to talk.

Spock was the first to say anything. “You told him.” Silence followed, and Leonard felt his smile slipping a little bit. He gave Jim a look as if to say ‘this is where you come in,’ but Jim didn’t see it. As usual, he only had eyes for Spock. Spock excused himself immediately and stalked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Then it was silent again.

So, that hadn’t gone exactly how Leonard had hoped, but there was still time. He looked to Jim to say as much, but Jim’s eyes were boring into him with an expression he didn’t even know was possible. That was the only time Leonard began to question what he’d done.

“Bones, what the hell? Why would you _say_ that? What were you _thinking_?” Jim strode up to him, and for the second time in as many minutes, Leonard was fairly certain he’d get punched. He managed to stay casual, though. Sometimes it helped to explain things clinically to Jim. So he tried that.

“Someone had to,” He said. “If left to your own devices, the two of you--”

“Would have been just fine. Now you’ve gone and ruined it. Who gave you the right--”

Leonard breathed out through his nose, wishing Jim just innately understood.

“I’m your friend, Jim,” was all he said.

“Yeah? Well what good’ve you done? How is _this_ supposed to _help_?”

Settling a hand on his shoulder, Leonard saw a little anger seep from Jim’s face. He didn’t know how to say ‘it’s for your own good’ in a nice way, but goddamnit did he try. He thought back to Jocelyn, to the icy silence that had permeated their marriage those last few months, to the number of times he’d considered saying something, apologizing, asking her what was wrong-- and how each time he just... _didn’t_.

Maybe things never would have mended between Leonard and his ex-wife, but if they’d talked, maybe they could look at each other without the baggage of years of resentment weighing them down.

“I’ve had more than one relationship fall to pieces,” he said, making sure Jim was looking him right in the eye, “‘cause I was too stubborn to talk things out. You’ve got a chance to fix it, kid. And you’d better get a jump on it. He’s out there stewing right now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Jim was still angry, but Leonard told himself he’d be thanking him later.

“Jim,” Leonard slipped away, taking a seat in the armchair as if he’d just nonchalantly pick up a book the second Jim left. “Just go talk to him. And bring him a coat, will you? With his physiology he’ll freeze to death out there.”

The fire in Jim’s eyes hadn’t faded, but he drew himself up and did as he was told. When Leonard heard the back door slam for a second time, he sighed. “Ship’s counselor I will never be,” he said to himself, tapping his fingers on his knees. Though he could only stay still for so long.

Leonard thought for a minute that it would only be courteous to give them their privacy, but how could he now? As far as he was concerned, he’d already stuck his fingers in this particular pie. It would really only be responsible to see it through.

Resigned, Leonard stood, and made his way into the kitchen.

He moved toward the window, then leaned forward on the counter beside the sink. Sure enough, there they were, standing still as chess pieces. If Leonard felt a little doubt nagging at him, he didn’t admit as much to himself. Opting instead for watching silently. Who’d have guessed he’d be playing matchmaker someday? _How_ had he ended up playing matchmaker? After the divorce, he’d learned not to care about things too much. He’d learned not to give his heart into anything but his career-- something he had complete control over. People were _hard_. But he’d come to care about Jim and, if he were being honest with himself, he may have come to care about Spock a little too.

Was he so wrong for wanting them to be happy? He scoffed at himself as he watched Jim grab Spock’s shoulder and wheel him around, facing each other now, expressions unreadable from this distance. He couldn’t believe he wanted that damned Vulcan to be happy. How things had changed in just a few short months.

Consciously, he heard the front door open. He heard Winona’s voice singing, “we’re home,” but he didn’t translate that knowledge into action. His eyes and attention were fixed on the scene outside the window, and maybe he should’ve turned away sooner, busied himself with the replicator or something, but when Jim’s parents walked in, he was glued to the counter.

Outside, there was clearly some kind of argument happening. Jim gestured widely, though his back was to the window and Leonard couldn’t see his face.

“Leonard? Where are the boys?” George asked when they made their way inside, but Leonard didn’t even tear his eyes from the scene.

“Out there,” he said, nodding in their direction, “I think they’re having a tiff,” Of course, he knew they were having more than a tiff. Both Jim’s parents drew up on either side of him, craning their necks to follow the line of his eyes-- Just in time to see Spock extend a hand to Jim’s.

“That doesn’t look like a tiff, Leonard,” Winona said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady herself on her toes. “Did Spock just--”

“What are they… arguing about?” George asked in wonder, stumbling over the word ‘argue’ like he wasn’t sure he believed it. Right about now, Leonard didn’t know if ‘argument’ really described what was going on anymore.

“I don’t think it’s my place to say,” Leonard said, then Winona let out a soft gasp as Spock purposefully strode past Jim, face set in hard lines they could barely see.

“What did he say?” She asked both of them and neither of them.

“Beats me,” George sounded disturbed, “but look, there, Jim’s going after him--”

“Oh!” Winona squeezed Leonard’s shoulder as they watched the two slip and slide on the frosted grass. She felt like she was coiled, ready to spring into action, but let out a breath when they steadied themselves.

“Oh,” she said again, but softer this time, as though some realization had just struck. “They’re awfully close. Wow, they are _awfully_ close. Leonard… what are they arguing about?”

Leonard was about to tell her again, that he didn’t want to say, but then Winona slapped him hard on the arm. “He’s holding his hand! Leonard! George! Did you see that?”

“What?” George leaned close enough to the window to touch it with his nose, squinting. “Damnit, Winn, I left my glasses upstairs…”

“Oh, dear, do you want me to narrate?”

“No I think I can make out-- Oh!” George immediately spun around and leaned with his back against the counter. “Oh, I don’t think we should have seen that.” Winona followed suit moments later, a hand on her mouth.

Jim had leaned forward, so sure of himself-- how after all their dancing around was he sure of himself now?-- but Spock didn’t hesitate to take Jim into an embrace when their lips met, so Leonard guessed the gamble had been worth it.

He turned around too, a small smile on his face. “I guess the cat’s outta the bag now,” he said, making his way to the table. George was right, they probably shouldn’t have seen that, but Leonard was feeling so triumphant he hardly cared.

Winona lowered her hand to give Leonard a look. “You knew?! How long have they been…” she held up her two hands and mimed squishing something together.

Leonard laughed. “I’d say about twenty seconds, but you gotta know they’re crazy about each other. I may’ve pushed ‘em a bit.”

Winona risked another look outside, and judging by the way she blushed red as a tomato and giggled, the two were still kissing. She put a hand on her head as she turned back to the room at large. “Have they been-- all this time they’ve had feelings for each other? How did I _not know_?”

Leonard shrugged, smiling at Winona’s look of shocked glee. “Couldn’t tell ya that, ma’am. Hear Jim say it, he’s been in love with Spock since he was fourteen.”

Her eyes widened and she shared a glance with George. “That explains a lot. Their fight, right before Spock left…”

George ran a hand through his hair. “You think? That… well, he never told us about it. That would explain a few things.”

There was a little swell of pride, Leonard admitted, that he had noticed Spock’s affections long before even Jim’s parents had. He knew he’d get the shit taken out of him later if Jim were still angry, but he couldn’t help feeling good about himself.

“I just don’t know what to do with myself,” Winona said, tossing her hands in the air, “George, this is fantastic.”

George glanced at her, still in shock by the looks of it. For a second, there was silence, and then a smile ticked his lips. “I suppose it is. No chance we’re not going to see Spock for two years at a time now.”

Winona laughed, almost nervous in the way the sound wavered, and Leonard smiled at them.

“I suppose not!” She said in wonder, “And you know, we’ve always wanted Spock to be our son. I guess son-in-law is a pretty good compromise.”

“Now ma’am,” Leonard spoke up from the table, “I think you’re putting the cart before the horse there.”

Winona ignored him, turning back to the window. Considering she kept her gaze outside, the boys must’ve finished kissing. “I don’t know, Leonard. I think the horse is off and running. Look at them now. They’re coming back. George, look at this! Have you ever seen them so close?”

Leonard stayed seated, but George returned to the window with Winona, putting a hand on her lower back. Leonard couldn’t see their faces, but he could almost feel them smiling.

A few seconds passed before Winona seemed to snap out of her reverie and realize what she’d said a moment before. “Oh! They’re coming _back_!” She said frantically, pulling George from the window. “Okay, no one let on that we know anything. Look busy.”

George immediately cast around the room for something to do, half jogging over to the replicator, “What do you want me to do, Winn? There’s nothing--”

“Just look busy!” She grabbed a dish from the counter and set it in the sink, barely having a chance to reach toward the faucet when the door creaked open.

When Spock walked in, Leonard wished he’d thought to have a camera ready. The Vulcan’s face flushed green to the tips of his ears, and somehow Leonard guessed that wasn’t just the cold. His eyes were wide, darting between each of them as the situation became clear. Jim followed him inside a second later, the giddy, schoolboy smile leaving his face when he followed Spock’s eyes. Leonard sat at the table with a smug expression that was sure to drive Jim insane.

He couldn’t help it. He’d done a damn good job.

 

\--

 

Jim sat across from him, hands clasped at his mouth, eyes hard. Leonard couldn’t bring himself to look too contrite, though he knew his friend had asked to speak to him privately to get on his case. The rest of the family was outside, working in the greenhouse, and so Jim and Leonard sat silently at the kitchen table. It had been almost a full day since Leonard had dropped that verbal bomb, but considering Jim had never seemed happier than in that twenty-four hours, he didn’t think he’d be in too much trouble.

“For what it’s worth,” Leonard said before Jim could gather his own thoughts, “I’m sorry I pushed it.” Jim lowered his hands, quirking an eyebrow. There was a pause.

Sighing, Leonard leaned back in his chair. “It’s just, listen kid. I know you’re a grownup and you can make your own decisions, but no one can make a decision without all the facts, right? You didn’t know Spock was ga-ga over you. I did.”

“Couldn’t you have just told me?”

It was Leonard’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “Jim, if I’d said Spock felt the same way as you, would you have believed me?”

Jim’s lips twitched, “probably not,” he admitted.

“There you go. Had to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, didn’t you?”

Jim scratched his head all the harshness fading slowly from his demeanor. “I was really mad at you,” he said, “Furious, actually. You understand why, right?”

“Goddamn right I do,” Leonard said with a laugh, “I wouldn’t’ve blamed you if you’d socked me one in the jaw. But it worked out.”

“You never struck me as an ‘ends justify the means’ kind of man,” Jim said, chuckling a little bit himself.

“Not usually,” Bones admitted, “but you gotta understand. It was painful watching you two.”

“Painful? That’s got to be an exaggeration.”

Bones smiled, “Jim, you drive me up a wall and you’re too damn nice for your own good and, goddamnit, you make me talk about my feelings.” His nose curled up in a look of distaste, which quickly faded. “But I want you to be happy. Can’t figure for the life of me why Spock’s the secret ingredient, but-- well. You are happy, aren’t you?”

Jim smiled, wide and wistful and a little far away. “I keep thinking it’s a dream,” he said, “but when he looks at me…”

“All right, Jim, no need to get all lovey dovey on me,” Leonard half-groaned, rubbing his head so he didn’t have to look at Jim’s expression anymore. “What I’m trying to say is I’m a doctor, not a relationship therapist. I saw something the matter and I fixed it best I knew how.”

Jim took in a deep breath and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, Bones, I want to be mad at you, but considering how the chips fell…”

Leonard smiled, returning his eyes to his friend. “A fair gamble?”

“Fair enough. You do realize you shot yourself in the foot though, right?”

Leonard watched his friend with narrowed eyes. As far as he could tell, this had been a win-win situation. “How so?”

“I’m going to be spending more time with Spock now,” Jim said, nodding in the direction of the greenhouse as though Leonard forgot which Spock he was talking about. “Which means _you’re_ going to be spending more time with Spock.”

Leonard gave Jim a wry smile. Jim should’ve known he had resigned himself to that fate the day Jim had met up with Spock for lunch. There was no getting between the two. That much had been obvious even back then.

“Don’t say I never sacrificed anything for you, kid.”

Jim’s smug look melted a little bit into something softer, and Leonard tried to stop him before he got too sincere. It was too late.

“Thanks, Bones,” Jim said, meaning it down to his soul, Leonard knew.

“Goddamnit, kid, stop. Don’t make me regret anything, now.”

Jim straightened up in his seat, glancing out in the direction of the greenhouse. “I expected to be yelling at you for a good hour at least. I guess we just freed up our afternoon. Want to join them outside?”

Leonard didn’t exactly ‘want’ to. He knew Winona and George would be trading those happy, knowing looks they’d been unable to wipe off their faces for the last day, and they’d probably be grilling Spock about his feelings, which Leonard didn’t want to have to witness.

But Jim looked so happy at the thought of joining them, probably for Spock’s sake, that Leonard felt himself smiling. “Sure, kid,” he said. “Whatever you like.”

As they stood and made their way toward the back door, Jim slung an arm over Leonard’s shoulder and squeezed him tight, a companionable grin on his face. Leonard felt a warmth spread through his chest and tried to squash it as best he could.

He was never sure if Jim was more like a son or a brother to him, but whatever he was, he was _important_. And somewhere along the line, Leonard had begun to feel responsible for him. For his protection, his happiness, his success. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he’d done all right with that responsibility.

Maybe this, whatever this was, was a new chapter for both of them.


	2. Ceremonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of defining moments in the lives of Jim Kirk and S'chn T'gai Spock, commemorated with ceremonies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this about a week after I finished writing Refuge (almost a year ago, holy hell), but it was really, really hard to write. It's taken revisiting it a few times over the last few months, but here it is. <3 Please note: I changed the archive warnings so please look at that before reading. Not to spoil anything, but I don't want you going in blind.

**1.**

“Congratulations, ashayam,” Spock intoned gently. Jim almost didn’t hear him over the din. Hundreds of graduates, hundreds of spectators, and they stood still as two solid rocks in an ocean. They’d told Bones and their families to meet them here, near the west side of the great hall where everyone was congregating, but Jim wasn’t surprised it was taking them awhile to get through.

Jim turned to Spock, a glowing smile on his face, and he extended two fingers that were met briefly (they were in public, after all) but with a humming sort of joy. “You too, Spock. We made it.”

“We did.”

“Lieutenant James Tiberius Kirk. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Indeed,” Spock’s eyes were alight. “Though no doubt ‘Admiral’ will suit you more.”

“One step at a time,” Jim laughed, nudging their shoulders. “But your faith in me is, as always, both encouraging and completely unfounded.”

Spock just gave him one of those beautiful and tender half smiles before a shout reached their ears.

“Goddamnit, Jim, couldn't you have picked someplace outside?”

Jim turned to the sound of Bones’ voice and flashed his best grin. “Bones! There you are! I thought we’d lost you with all the other doctors.”

Bones gave him a smirk, “Worried I’m going to leave you for my new friends, Jim?”

Jim just laughed, but Spock chimed in. “Considering you often complain over how little you enjoy spending time with your fellow medical cadets, I doubt it.”

“I don’t enjoy spending time with you, and I still do it,” Bones shot back, though he was smiling.

“Hey, enough bickering, both of you,” Jim laughed, “this is our big day!” Jim slapped Bones on the back. “Congrats,  _ Doctor  _ McCoy,” he said fondly. Bones did look rather pleased at the new title.

“Congrats? This is nothing. Look at you, Jim!” He tapped the Palm Leaf of Axanar Peace Mission badge Jim had pinned beside his Starfleet insignia, which he had earned just last year, when he was still a cadet. The honor had certainly helped him get a little notice from the top brass. “And even you, Spock,” Bones said with a smile. “If they pinned all your certifications to your uniform like Jim’s badges you’d be covered in paper.”

The both of them knew this was Bones’ way of saying congratulations, and Jim smiled. “Thanks, Bones. I’m proud of us. All of us.”

Just then, a sing-songing voice reached his ears. “My boys!”

Winona blindsided Jim, slamming into him with enough force to knock him backwards into Spock. She didn’t seem to care, stretching her arms to wrap around the both of them.

“ _ Our _ boys,” Amanda corrected just as musically, and Jim felt another body piled onto them, though through his mother’s hair he couldn’t see Amanda.

He felt Winona reach out and turned his head just in time to see her fist a hand in Bones’ uniform and drag him into the hug.

Jim busted out laughing. Neither Spock nor Bones seemed to know what to do with this much affection.

“No doubt such an emotional display is inappropriate,” a cooly collected voice spoke up. The huddle loosened just enough for Jim to catch Sarek over his mother’s shoulder. Behind him stood the rest of the Kirk clan, George beaming, Sam cradling his son and Aurelan hanging off of Sam’s arm and grinning ear-to-ear. She waved and Jim tried to wave back, though his arms were still pinned at his sides.

“Lighten up, Sarek,” Amanda admonished gently as they finally broke apart. Each of the new graduates breathed his own sigh of relief. Spock looked particularly harried. Jim let his eyes linger on him for just a moment longer, just to make sure Sarek wasn’t getting to him.

He wasn’t. Spock had grown accustomed to letting whatever Sarek said roll off of him, and-- though Sarek would never admit to it-- the old guy had been softened a little by the Kirks over the years. Jim had a feeling he didn’t mean half of what he said about illogical displays of emotion anymore.

As the rest of the family approached, Winona took out her recorder and started filming. She managed to capture each hug, each slap on the back, each “Congradulations, kids,” and each following “thank you” and the unguarded, embarrassed joy on Bones’ face every time someone called him “Doctor.”

In the brief moment between the last of the family’s congratulatory hugs and the mass migration to the restaurant where their graduation party would be held, Jim took a moment to look around at the people he loved, in the happiest moment of his life. He caught Spock’s eyes and smiled. Spock’s own happiness was radiating off him like sunlight, though only Jim could feel its warmth. 

 

**2.**

Spock could’ve been on that ship, Jim thought to himself, heart pounding. Spock had turned down an assignment on the  _ Enterprise _ to stay with Jim on the  _ Farragut _ , after all. Though Jim had been upset at the time-- had chastised Spock for passing up an enormous opportunity for  _ Jim’s _ sake, of all things-- now he gripped his boyfriend’s arm as though determined he’d never be out of his sight again. Spock tried to send some reassurance through their bond, but the conditions were not ideal.

The whole room pressed on both of them-- on everyone, the thousands of Starfleet personnel gathered-- grief heady in the air, as the faces of the lost crew passed on the large screen before them. Each of them, whose bodies could have been recovered at least, had been given a proper Starfleet burial, but this ceremony was for those left behind. The  _ Enterprise _ had suffered the most massive losses of any ship so far in this war, and it drove home how badly it needed to end. All this death, destruction, all these people. It needed to end. Jim knew some of these faces from the Academy, and his heart ached for them, just as much for those he would never know.

The screen paused on each face, long enough for the Federation President to read off the crewmen’s names.

“Ensign Lydia Andrews,” he said, “Commander Turner Assar,” “Yeoman Telan Parker…”

On and on. 200 people in total. 

After the ceremony, Jim practically dragged Spock back to their temporary quarters, closed the door and laid his head against his boyfriend’s chest.

Spock didn’t have to say anything, but the gentle arms that wound their way around Jim’s waist reminded him, “I’m still here.”

 

**3.**

He hadn’t wanted to do it this way. Not really. When he was a child, had thought about this day, imagined himself in a formal, Starfleet Captain’s uniform, standing proud in front of a room filled with the people he loved, some grand hall decorated in fresh flowers and complementary colors.

But the  _ Enterprise _ ’s observation deck was nearly empty and his loved ones’ faces flickered on screens they’d set up around the room, holding to an unstable subspace connection. Their happy tears were simply a noise in the background, obscured by static. 

The only physical guests of the ceremony were sniffling, too. Marlena stood beside Jim, and Bones beside Spock, tightening his lips and raising his chin to stave off his own tears. There was no fanfare, no decoration, no other sound but the hum of the ship around them and the pounding of Jim’s own heart.

But that was okay. All of Jim’s attention focused itself forward, eyes on Spock’s, warm and brown and loving, and he didn’t care that this wasn’t how he’d envisioned it when he was a kid, because all he needed stood right in front of him. And no matter what happened when they hit the front lines tomorrow, he would have  _ this _ forever.

Captain Pike was speaking, Jim noticed, formal words of love, devotion, commitment, and Jim wanted to hear him, wanted to absorb everything about this moment, everything about the people in witness and the stars shining through the observation deck, lighting everything in beautiful blue shadows, but all he absorbed was Spock, and maybe all he would remember would be Spock. Spock, whose hands had come to Jim’s own, whose cheeks were flushed that familiar and beautiful green, who was staring at Jim as though he, too, could focus on nothing else. 

“Do you, Commander James Tiberius Kirk, take Commander Spock to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

It took a moment for the question to sink in, focused as he was on the gentle grip of the strong hands around his own, on how that iridescent blue fabric with its gold braids and pinned medals seemed to glint as it shifted over Spock’s chest.

Somewhere to his side, Marlena cleared her throat, and Jim startled.

“I do,” he said, speaking more to Spock than to Pike, two words, two single syllables that meant so much more than they meant.

“And do you, Lieutenant Commander Spock take Lieutenant Commander James Tiberius Kirk--”  
“I do,” Spock said, and a laugh broke through Jim’s lungs, cresting in a smile that broke his face. Spock looked surprised, as though he hadn’t meant to interrupt, but Jim would have it no other way. This had been Spock’s idea, after all. He really was as impatient as Jim, just as eager, just as sure, proud and ready.

When Pike spoke next, it was with a smile in his voice.

“Then I now pronounce you wed. You may--”

But by the time the word ‘kiss’ reached Jim’s ears, Spock’s lips were already on his own, his fingertips moving to press against Jim’s, and Jim sank into him, closing his eyes and forgetting for a moment that they could die tomorrow, that nothing in his life was certain.

Because  _ this _ was certain. Spock. The one constant. Fifteen years, he’d loved this man. And he’d love him for the rest of their days-- however long they had. Whether it all ended tomorrow or lasted forever, as infinite as the universe outside the window.

When they pulled away from their kiss, they did so with giddy reluctance, hands still pressed together, palm-to-palm, a genuine smile on Spock’s lips that made Jim’s heart stutter.

It was nothing like he’d imagined, but everything he’d ever wanted.

  
  


**4.**

Everything he had ever wanted.

A medal pinned to his chest, strong hands shaking his own as he made his way down a line of admirals, wide smiles on every face and a series of muttered “congratulations, Captain.”

Captain. Everything he’d ever wanted.

But only two days ago, they had buried Captain Pike and ten other members of their crew.

That was the only reason Jim stood where he did now. Because he was next in a long line of people ready to continue the fight as officers far better than himself lost their lives.

And even though he turned to a full reception hall that burst into applause, and even though he could see his parents and Amanda beaming and waving beside a stony-faced Sarek in the crowd, and even though Spock stood to the side of the stage wearing a look of pride that made Jim’s heart thrum, he couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t want this, not anymore, not if it meant good people had to die for him to get it.

Later, after drinks and tables laden with rich food and choruses of “Congratulations, Captain Kirk”-- after the warm hug from Bones and the surprising respect with which Sarek raised the ta’al-- after he finally walked alongside Spock back to a room far nicer than he deserved-- only after all this did he slump into a chair and put his head in his hands and allow the comforting touch of his husband to lay along his shoulders.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said quietly.

“You have earned this, Jim,” Spock replied, kneeling before him, laying a hand against his thigh. Jim lifted his eyes to him, the gleam of his rank stripes catching in the light. 

His chest seemed to hollow out with a breath-- not a laugh, not a sob-- a single quiet breath. “Not yet,” he said, resting his hand over Spock’s and losing himself in the love he felt through that simple touch. “But I will.”

 

**5.**

“My brother--” Jim said, but his voice hitched. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. How could he do this?

Spock’s hand came to rest on his shoulder and he turned to him, seeing his own sadness reflected a hundredfold in those eyes. There was a reason Spock was standing up here with him, and it wasn’t just for moral support. Spock deserved to be at this podium with him. Spock deserved to mourn as he did. In this moment, they were brothers.

Nearly a hundred people stared up at them, faces obscured by handkerchiefs and trembling fingers, all draped and suited in black, a reminder of how many people had loved the man and his wife who now lay in twin coffins at Jim’s side. But he couldn’t focus on the crowd, or on Spock. He had to focus on Sam. Sam, who had done nothing but love and care for his family his entire life, who had been so strong and so kind and so treasured. Sam, who didn’t deserve what had happened to him.

When they had received word that Deneva had been caught in the crossfire, Jim hadn’t dared to believe that anything could have happened to his brother. The colony was supposed to be safe. A scientific outpost. But nothing was safe. Not anymore. That was war, wasn’t it?

He closed his eyes and blocked out the funeral hall, unable to look at his nephews in the front row who stared blankly forward as though they had been emptied of everything, everything that had made them the joyous boys Jim had once known. 

“My brother,” he tried again, “was the greatest man I’ve ever known,” his voice choked as it echoed around the hall. “He taught me everything I know, and I mean that. Everything I know about how to love people. How to protect them. He said--” Jim blinked past his tears, raising his eyes to the lofted ceiling where sunlight filtered through. “He said once that you should always trust the people you love. You should trust them to take care of themselves, allow them their space and their time, but when they need you--” he stopped himself once more, surprising himself when he began to chuckle, remembering the way he’d sobbed like a little baby when he was just eleven years old. Marlena had told him that day that she would ‘never ever’ be his girlfriend, and Sam… “When I was young,” Jim started again, “Sam would-- he would bring me hot cocoa when I was upset. He told me to trust that the people I loved could take care of themselves, but to be there with-- with the cocoa if they needed it. It’s simple advice, isn’t it? So innocent and, well, even  _ silly _ saying it aloud now. But I think of it every day of my life. That is the kind of kindness, the kind of understanding, that defined my brother as a man.”

Jim turned then to his husband, the corner of his mouth lifting even as hot tears streamed down his cheeks, and he saw Spock’s usually inscrutable eyes swimming too. Sam had been a brother to them both. Sam had loved them both. And they had both loved Sam so much they couldn’t bear knowing he was gone. “And he  _ was _ always there for me when I needed it. My brother gave me everything, and-- I’ll miss him.  _ We’ll _ miss him. This war has taken the best of us now. It’s taken the… the absolute best of us.” 

Jim finished with a choke, and Spock laid his hand over Jim’s clenched fingers on the podium’s edge. It was not an eloquent eulogy, but Jim had given many eloquent eulogies in recent years. As captain, it was his duty to do so. Here, it would have been wrong to do anything too formal, to speak in stilted recited words. Sam deserved honesty, and this was as honest as Jim could be. His defenses had crumbled.

Everything had crumbled.

 

**6.**

Jim was no longer proud of his own medals. He no longer cared for the endless ceremonies and commendations that honored him for simply doing his job. But whenever it was Spock’s turn on that stage, Jim glowed. Especially on those many occasions that he was able to gush about his husband in front of a room of stuffy Starfleet officials.

“Commander Spock’s quick thinking,” he said, pride echoing in every word as his speech neared its end, casting his eyes to Spock who seemed to be flushed green with embarrassment. Jim’s exaltations of his deeds  _ had _ gone on a little long. “No-- Commander Spock _ himself _ \-- enabled us not only to complete our mission and escape with incredible new insight into our enemy, he also saved nearly 400 people. During a crisis, Mister Spock retained a level head, discovered a way to modulate our shields, protected the  _ Enterprise _ and every ship in this fleet, and gave us an advantage in this war we would never have otherwise had. Commander Spock,” Jim turned to him with a nod of recognition, trying not to let his smile shine too wide. “On behalf of the  _ Enterprise _ and her crew, I thank you.”

Applause surged, echoing against the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the ceremonial hall. San Francisco’s gray skies rolled and ebbed high above, the Academy campus bustled below, but Jim was looking at Spock, the man who had turned the tide of the war.

Jim left the podium, allowing Spock and Admiral Nogura to take his place at the front of the stage. He sat down in a line of other high-ranking officials, watching Spock stand straight at attention as a medal was pinned to his lapel.

“For excellence in service,” read Admiral Nogura, “incredible bravery and ingenuity. We honor you, Commander Spock. Thank you.”

Spock nodded his thanks, raising the ta’al to Nogura, who raised it in turn. He then turned to the audience, which burst once more into applause. Jim stood with them, clapping madly, so proud of the man that stood before him he didn’t think he could hold it in.

They would’ve made Spock a captain instantly if he’d wanted it. Hell, he could have asked for admiral and not been refused. But he didn’t. Spock had told Jim just that morning that there was no force in the universe that could part him from Jim’s side.

And as Spock turned to meet Jim’s eyes, a rather self-conscious half-smile at the corner of his lips, Jim felt gratitude well up inside him. He couldn’t imagine a starship without Spock, couldn’t imagine serving alongside anyone else, living alongside anyone else. None of his medals compared to the simple honor of Spock’s love.

 

**7.**

T’Pau’s speech had been moving: a declaration of the power of her people, a commemoration of all the lives that had been lost, but none of the Vulcans looked moved. That was alright. Jim had lived around enough Vulcans to know that-- no matter the straight lines of their lips or their dry eyes-- there would not be a Vulcan present that didn’t feel something.

Relief, he gathered. Perhaps, pride, fear. Overwhelming anguish. Everything it was possible to feel. He could only imagine, and he found he didn’t want to.

Jim stared up at the monument, gleaming in the hot Vulcan sunlight, and it felt as though something had finally fallen into place. A twenty-year war. Over. They deserved, needed this respite. His chest felt hollow, hard, wishing his brother had lived to see peace, wishing the crewmates he’d lost could stand here with the rest of the  _ Enterprise’ _ s officers.

But wishing only went so far. Jim was a man of action, and there would be much to do in the wake of this war. He saved his grief for later, for the warmth of his husband’s arms in the quiet of their quarters. Now, he drew himself up, and forced his shoulders back. He was a captain, and he had a duty to the others. Remain strong. Steadfast.

Because finally, after all this, there would be time to mourn.

 

**8.**

“Can you believe,” Bones’ voice rang out through the banquet hall, a smile on his lips, “these two haven’t gotten sick of each other yet?”

A chorus of laughs rang out around the banquet hall, two long tables of family, friends.  Jim placed his hand on his husband’s thigh, sharing a small smile with him. “No, I mean it,” Bones continued over the laughter, waving his glass of champagne. “Married _ thirty years _ , serving on a starship together, winning a war--”

Cheers exploded, glasses clinked, and Bones waved down the crowd’s excitement. “And today we’re gonna celebrate all of it. Jim, Spock,” he raised his glass to the couple. “Today’s more than some damned vow renewal or whatever it is you put on the invitations. Today’s a day to celebrate the two of you. What you’ve done, and all of us who’d be a damn sight worse off if it weren’t for you. I’m not tryin’ to get sentimental, but you don’t know someone nearly fifty years without gettin’ a little choked up about ‘em. And I know you’ve both said you’re retiring, whatever the hell that means--” Another round of laughs chased that aside. “But I know you. Both of you. And I know you ain’t done yet.”

Jim smiled up at his best friend. He had to hand it to him, Bones knew him well. Jim hadn’t yet announced that both he and Spock would be teaching at the Academy come next semester, but it wouldn’t surprise anyone. They’d had an eventful life, and even though they were ready to relax, they could never relax entirely.

_ You are not content standing still _ , Spock had said to him once, and he had been correct. That was, in essence, what Bones was saying now. There’d be no standing still, not for the famous command team of the  _ Enterprise _ . Or, more accurately, not for Jim and Spock. They weren’t a command team anymore, though it certainly felt as though they always would be.

As applause rang out at the end of Bones’ toast and Bones settled once again into his seat to Jim’s side, Jim clapped his friend on the back. Bones just gave him that smirk that, in all these years, had never changed. Jim didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a friend like Leonard McCoy, but in this moment, one of the happiest in recent memory, he figured he wouldn’t dare question it. He had the man he loved at one side, the man whose friendship had sustained him on his other, and a room full of people here to celebrate with him.

Jim Kirk and S’chn T’gai Spock had accomplished a great deal in their lives, but nothing quite measured up to this. To the people they had touched, who had touched them in turn.

 

**9.**

The sea of red uniforms blurred a little bit as Jim squinted out over the crowd, raising his hand to shade the sunlight in his eyes-- though he knew it was his failing eyesight and not the light that made each of the cadets look like the same red smear against the green backdrop of the Academy lawn. 

Still, he decided to blame the sun. Back in his day, graduation had been held inside the great hall, but Starfleet had grown so much over the years that they had moved the ceremony out into the courtyard. It was affirming to see the organization growing-- even if it resulted in a little bit of discomfort in the heat and the bright and the stifling collar of Jim’s admiral’s uniform. 

“Can you believe it, Spock?” Jim asked quietly, leaning to the man beside him and nudging their knees together. The ceremony had yet to begin, but it would soon and he didn’t want to draw attention. “Those kids are going off into the universe after this.  _ Those _ kids. The same ones we’ve been hounding about their homework all year.”

Their first graduating class as professors, and Jim couldn’t imagine that those children were old enough to risk their lives out on the frontier. 

Though, of course, he had been their age when he’d gone off to open war. Such details were easy to forget.

“They have worked hard,” Spock said softly, “and I believe we have prepared them well.”

“They’re so young,” Jim complained, glancing back out over them. “Were we  _ ever _ that young?”

Spock turned to him with a slight smile on his lips, and Jim knew that if they weren’t on a large platform in front of a crowd of a thousand cadets, surrounded on all sides by their fellow professors, Spock would have laid a hand on his own. “We were younger,” Spock reminded him, his voice carrying all the memories of days spent cloud-gazing, petty rivalries with the kids in chess club, teenage misunderstandings, lunches in the Academy’s mess hall where they learned each other again, frozen kisses in frozen fields, wide-eyed excitement as they boarded their first shuttle to their first mission. Yes, they had been younger. Sometimes, Jim forgot that all of those moments had led to this.

Jim smiled, looking back over the crowd as the president of the Academy stood from his seat and moved toward the podium to begin the ceremony. “I do feel very old,” Jim whispered, voice lower than before.

“You are spry as a spring chicken,” Spock assured him, and Jim had to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh. All these years, and it never failed to surprise him when one of his mother’s idioms fell out of Spock’s lips. When he gave Spock an admonishing look, Spock’s eyes shined, and he turned his gaze back to the graduates.

  
  


**10.**

Spock’s back had curled a little with age, his hands wrinkled and aching in their joints, his lungs laboring more for breath than they used to as he ascended the stairs of the ceremonial hall-- the same one where they had laid Sam to rest so long ago. He had opted not to deliver a speech on this occasion, which had confused and hurt some people, but anyone who knew him well knew why. 

There were few left who knew him well.

Spock knew loss. At the age of fourteen, he had lost his planet, not knowing he would regain it someday. In Starfleet, he had lost crewmates, friends, people he loved. Sam’s death had broken him down in ways he never expected, a constant pain he never knew before then that he was able to feel. Their parents had all passed on many years ago, Amanda, George, Winona and then Sarek, following each other in a cascade of tragedy that had left Jim inconsolable and Spock empty for much longer than either of them ever cared to remember. Then, just last year, they had attended Leonard McCoy’s funeral, Jim barely containing his grief long enough to deliver the expected eulogy. Leonard had become a part of them over the years. Both of them. And in spite of how they had bickered and blustered, Spock missed him daily, just as Jim did. They found it was difficult to even bring up his memory in conversation, though they did so often.

But Spock had suffered all of that grief, and he realized now that he had never understood the true meaning of loss until the moment half his soul had been ripped from him. 

The funeral hall behind him-- packed to the brim with former crewmates, students, Starfleet officials and many who had never even met James Tiberius Kirk-- was silent, even those friends and family in line behind him to say their farewells. All he heard was the blood rushing in his own ears, and some vague impression of music that didn’t quite reach him through the fog.

He approached the coffin, clamping down every control he had on himself in order to do so. It was an archaic practice, the embalming, the dressing, the viewing, the ritual and ceremony, but he went through the motions all the same, wondering if the human part of him needed this, needed the final sight of the man he loved, laying serene in a bed of white. 

And there he was. Spock felt his heart pound as he slowed to a stop, staring down into the shining black box with all its simple elegance. He recognized the body within as belonging to his bondmate, but it was as though he was staring at the scene through a screen. Somehow, it didn’t feel real.

Jim’s cheeks bore none of their happy flush, though the lines of his ever-present smile were still carved into the corners of his eyes and lips, wrinkles that told the story of a life well-lived. He wore his formal Starfleet uniform, an old-fashioned captain’s uniform as he’d requested. Even when he’d become an admiral, and then a professor, and then a quiet retiree with a soft belly and penchant for tinkering with old electronics and reminiscing about youth, Jim had always been a captain.

Spock’s captain. 

It felt, in spite of Spock’s reticence to say as much, as though being a captain had been Jim's destiny. As though everything that had led to this moment had been destiny. 

Destiny, that Spock should be sent to the very farm where Jim Kirk grew up. Destiny, that he should befriend that exuberant, human child who had been so cold to him on his first day on Earth. Destiny that they should complement each other, that Jim should encourage him to do things he never would otherwise, that Jim should make him feed the cows and enter the science fair and join chess club and learn to drive an obsolete automobile. That Jim should kiss him at the wrong time in the wrong way, that Spock should misunderstand the gesture so fully. Destiny, even, that they should tear themselves apart, because when they found each other again it was at the perfect time, everything it should have been, two young men in Starfleet together as they’d always planned. Destiny.

Then, of course, it was destiny that they should be the ones to help end the war. Because there was nothing they could not do together. Spock knew that now with as much abject certainty as he knew anything. It had been destiny that he should love Jim.

All these memories rushed him as he laid his hand on Jim's, folded over his stomach. There was no spark at the contact, no touch of the soul that Spock knew now at least as well as he knew his own. 

Everything that had been Jim was gone. It had faded in his sleep, and Spock had awoken that night with the feeling of a splintering connection in his own mind. He had taken Jim’s hand where it lay between them in bed, knowing what was happening and knowing it was too late to stop it, knowing that all he could do was send all his love and his devotion over the remaining threads of their bond. He had whispered Vulcan words of devotion, the same he’d used for decades to convey the depth of emotion that no Standard word could convey. 

Jim hadn’t quite made his way to wakefulness before the darkness took him, but Spock knew the impressions had been felt. His t’hy’la died smiling, as he’d lived, knowing that Spock was beside him, as he always had been.

As he was now.

The procession behind him may have grown impatient, but Marlena was next in line, and Spock felt her turn her head. He had known her so long, he did not need to see her expression to know she glared now at any whose impatient whispers might reach Spock’s ears. With Marlena’s protection, Spock stayed there as long as he felt he was able. He had already said goodbye in the way that was most important, but now he said it again, a whisper.

“Dungi gla-tor nash-veh du va'ashiv, t’hy’la.”

_ I will see you again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 You see now why it was hard to write? Shit, I'm gonna write the fluffiest nonsense after this.


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